Everybody Talks
by Sonido del vuelo
Summary: When he moved in with his brother, he didn't perceive it as a step back. He was hardly home as it was.


He watched as Arthur writhed fluidly over the gelid metal, azure lit with wretched fascination and malicious envy. He'd never thought himself dull enough to become jealous over titanium but the way the Englishman's limbs languidly draped themselves over the pole—or maybe it was the periodical gyration of his hips…either way, Alfred was hooked. Now if only the other male might pay him a glance. At least once. At least tonight.  
It wasn't until those absinthe orbs flickered upward whilst he was bent halfway around, to Alfred. Alfred unnoticed in the corner, Alfred unnoticed for the past three months, Alfred who had a warm not-so-subtly placed English blonde stripper on his lap. And _oh,_ he was addicted even before he was Arthur's newfound pole. And almost instantly, Arthur's lips planned along the shell of Alfred's ear mapping out the contours from there to the jaunty muscles of his neck as that same mouth began whispering things that Alfred wouldn't have even imagined the professional porn stars he'd seen [always bearing one hundred percent similarity to Arthur, and only fifty percent as beautiful.] mouthing.

When the warmth in his lap disappeared and the faint cat whistles died in his ears, he realized his palms and pockets were empty.  
That was week one.

Past names died on the lips of his so called 'companions' when he came to join their conversations—examples all of them. Ivan, Francis, and then there was Ivan's sister…

Oh sure, they offered up their sins in smiles with contented gestures, and reassurances that if he was tugged away, everything would be okay.

The second week, Arthur kissed him. Raggedly and ravenously under the streetlamp after hours in the dark just two blocks from his apartment. He tried to ignore the pawing in his pocket as he fought to worm the other blonde from his trousers—and then there was the ache over his mouth when Arthur was gone not soon after.  
It was in the middle of his second shift on Wednesday that Matthew approached him with all the caution a half brother would, and expressed his concern. Such accusations made by others spared him surprise that might not have existed anyways.

Showing up at Arthur's own abode with his newest paycheck was abnormal, and he knew it, and even though the clenching around his cock and in his stomach were for two different reasons entirely, he found himself blissful for the moment, until he awoke the next day, and the same chat that haunted his ears whilst he was supposedly spending time with his friends, followed him whilst he gawked at Arthur per the usual, rolling enthusiastically over that damned cylindrical metal.

_"That's the one, isn't it?"_

_ "It's kind of…unnatural."_

_ "He's going to get his heart broken all over again….its….pathetic."_

_ "Behind….month's rent…concerned….mental health."_

_ "Shhh!"_

And then it was that he realized his babbling became identical, one with the concerned voices that seemed to emulate his own thoughts.

When he moved in with his brother, he didn't perceive it as a step back. He was hardly home as it was.

Alfred wasn't sure when he had become masochistic—or when he had become dependant for that matter. His own suffering was suffocating, and he found that it was no longer solely Arthur's lips against his own that brought an unmistakable ache. It was Arthur's entirety alone.

Matthew had known that Alfred's actions were becoming drastic even before Alfred himself knew, and when he had regrettably informed Alfred he would have to remove himself from the premises, Alfred was consigned to the streets.

Arthur thrived on the streets.  
Though he had known little outside of his small window of life as…well, less than dirt, he was experienced enough—_ashamed_ enough, to know the difference between love and…whatever it was Alfred was doing to him.

It was fucking _fictional. _And it seemed running was not an option for poor Arthur Kirkland.

_"New transfer."_

_ "Poor kid… can he talk?"_

_ "….He…two years…Arthur Kirkland…"_

_ "Hasn't spoken since?"_

_ "That's our goal…eventually….heavy surveillance and electroshock….everyone talks eventually."_

Alfred smiled.

* * *

A/N: One of my shorter ones, I'm afraid. I did enjoy how this turned, out but I may make some updates here and there when I'm not feeling so bloody laggard.

This is a present for my friend's birthday actually, based off the song "Everybody Talks" by Neon Trees. Happy Birthday, Jake!

At any rate, despite it's length, I do hope you all enjoyed it thoroughly.


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